Sometimes it Takes a Curse
by Amorah Leigh
Summary: When 17 year old Emma loses her last chance at a forever home, her anger opens a portal back to the Enchanted Forest. She encounters the Evil Queen who takes her to her castle. Emma is captivated by the dark woman and the two form a bond. Emma learns family isn't always what it seems and Regina finds there are other ways to get revenge. What happens when Emma returns to the future?
1. Chapter 1

Emma stared up at the sky. White cotton clouds zoomed in and out of focus, dancing under a harsh golden light. Her head pounded, a steady throb loud in her muffled ears. What the hell had happened?

She had obviously hit her head, but how had she ended up outside?

She didn't remember leaving. She didn't remember anything after the mirror. No. That wasn't right. She remembered what happened. It just didn't add up to her current circumstances. She was angry. So angry. Steph had set her up. She had one last chance to get adopted and Steph had stolen it away from her.

 _It was for your own good!_ The memory floated back to her.

Yeah right. She meant it was for _her_ own good. Steph didn't want to age out of the system alone, but she would now. They both would. No way in hell was Emma running away with her. Not after what she pulled. Emma was resourceful. She could find her own way in the world.

Or not…

Emma sat up slow, blinking fast as the earth tilted. Her stomach swirled, bile climbing her throat as she tried steady her vision. Large oak trees tipped and swayed, their shapes stretching like a reflection in a fun mirror. She swallowed and took a deep breath. She was in a forest, on the side of a dirt trail or road. The path wasn't wide enough for cars to travel, but she could make out the tire tracks in the damp earth.

"Okay, don't panic, Emma."

She pushed off the ground, carefully climbing to her feet. She felt like a child who had spun in too many circles. Her feet twisted with each step, propelling her forward. She grasped a branch and righted herself. After a moment, the dizziness faded, but the pain didn't. There was a knot on the side of her head, as if someone had hit her. Maybe she was the survivor of some sort of half-assed murder attempt. It would explain why she was dumped in the middle of nowhere.

But that didn't make sense either. Who would try to kill her and why? If anyone had a reason to commit murder it was her. She was the one set up. She was the one who had another family stolen from her.

It didn't matter. She needed to figure out where she was now. She could put the puzzle pieces of her memory together later.

She took a shaky step forward and winced. Maybe she was better off waiting until someone found her? People clearly used this trail for something and unless her senses were paying tricks on her, there was some kind of civilization nearby. She could smell chimney smoke. The air tasted like ashes and grilled chicken.

Her stomach rumbled.

The chicken might have been wishful thinking, but the smoke was real. Foggy gray tendrils wafted over the tree tops, and if she strained her ears, she could hear a soft rumble like thunder. Or a moderate rumble. The sound was growing louder, vibrating under her boots. An engine?

She turned to the right. A horse galloped into view and she rubbed her eyes, blinking. There was a whole herd of them, or a procession, or whatever you called a dozen galloping stallions headed in one direction. They weren't wild either. Each carried a rider wearing armor. Armor? Where was she, a Renaissance Festival? Whatever, as long as they could tell her where she was and how to get home, who cared what they were wearing?

She let go of the branch and took another step forward. Before she reached the edge of the grass, a gloved hand covered her mouth, pulling her back. Emma squealed. Thorns scraped her arms as they fell into the bushes, disappearing under green branches.

Their landing dispelled her attacker but not for long. Arms circled her legs, preventing her from crawling away.

"Let me go," she hissed. She twisted her hips, rolling onto her back. The person who grabbed her wasn't some creeper in a ski mask. It was a woman. She was tall and thin and young. Emma guessed she was in her mid-twenties. She was older than Emma. Not by much, but apparently enough. Emma was a fighter by nature, but the woman's hold was like a vice. She strained her muscles, twisting and bucking to no avail. Her attacker was strong and determined. "What do you want?"

"Shhh…" The woman glanced down at her, and her aqua eyes flashed yellow. "You're going to get us both killed."

"Killed?" She would have found that more troubling if she wasn't so freaked by the color shifting eyes. That wasn't normal and Emma was starting to wonder if she was really lost at all. Was she even awake?

The first horse trotted passed their hiding place, followed quickly by another. The brunette above her stiffened. They were slowing down, a carriage halting mere feet from their hiding place. A gloved hand pushed the door open and a long suede boot stepped down. Emma didn't see who it belonged to. Her attacker dropped down, covering them both with a cloak. Two cloaks. The top was camouflaged but the one beneath was bright red.

Emma said nothing. As awkward as it was being in the forest with a strange woman on top of her, there was a pressing in her gut that she didn't like. The dark boot had raised the hairs on the back of her neck, a familiar warning urging her compliance. As soon as these people were gone, she would deal with this crazy person, but she couldn't take them all on at once. Once free she would find a way to get out of there.

Wherever _there_ was.

"Your Majesty?"

The questioning voice was deep and gruff, but wasn't the focus of Emma's attention. The ground near her head crunched with the weight of footsteps, careful movement shifting the branches above her.

"There's magic here."

Emma froze. The voice was close, but that wasn't what set her heart racing. She knew that voice. She'd heard it two nights ago in a dream.

 _Images ran together: dark corridors, a room full of glowing boxes and a spell book. She was searching for something, an answer to a problem, another way to accomplish her goal._

 _"The castle is protected from your magic." The voice was male, his face framed by a circular mirror. "Even if you managed to sneak in-"_

 _"I won't have to sneak in!" The woman snapped. Her dark eyes narrowed into slits. She pressed her finger to a page in her book, scouring passages. "The child will come to me."_

The dark woman had cast a spell, a summons Emma had felt in her soul. But, it wasn't real. Not the woman, the dream or the mirror.

The mirror.

It was all she thought about the last few days. The recent addition to their bedroom wasn't anything special in appearance. Thorn branches twisted the tarnished gold frame. The glass was tainted as well, her reflection warped and green. It looked old. Like a couple of centuries old at least. It had lost its beauty, but the aesthetics weren't what drew Emma to it. It was the icy tendrils that crept under her skin each time she gazed into it, frosting her blood with and electric cold pleasure. She knew it was crazy to believe her reflection changed, yet she saw her eyes glaze over, the emerald orbs changing to the color of frosted grass. Puffs of frigid smoke escaped iced lips and her skin glowed. She felt powerful, untouchable. She didn't need the system or its favors. She didn't need foster families or the birth parents who abandoned her. She just needed to trust the mirror. It would take her where she was supposed to go.

Each time the trance was broken, Emma was left disoriented. The connection to the glass scared and enticed her. It didn't help that it played tricks on her mind. The longer she gazed into it, the more her world and appearance changed. She shook the illusions off quickly, creating excuses for her enhanced perceptions. She was day dreaming, letting her imagination provide an escape. It wasn't like she didn't need one. The reality of foster homes were far worse than any of Grimm's tales. She loved to read them and had a few of his books, tattered with missing pages. The mirror brought the characters to life, weaving stories through her mind. She saw places and worlds filled with magic and adventure. They were bright and vivid, playing like a movie reel.

Until two days ago. She was lost in her thoughts, hovering in the forest shadows as a prince darted through the trees. She knew him, she thought. He felt familiar at least. He approached a castle. Emma was certain she knew it. What story was it from? She couldn't remember. She dug through her memories, squinting into the glass.

That's was when it happened. The mirror shimmered, rippling like water, and her reflection swirled. The beige painted walls shifted to dark stone and a woman, dressed in deep blue velvet appeared. She was dark, her aura seductive and imposing. Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing high cheek bones and red lips. It was just a moment. Just a glimpse. She lounged near the fireplace, a leather book in her hand. Slowly she lifted her head, and onyx eyes found Emma's.

Emma's breath caught in her throat. She stared back like a fly caught in a spider's web. A wide smile graced the woman's lips and Emma spun. She wasn't sure why. Their bedroom didn't even have a fireplace. This woman wasn't with her. She couldn't be. Emma glanced back at the glass, goosebumps trailing her arms. Only her own reflection gazed back, looking pale and alarmed. The woman was gone.

 _Not quite._

No. She'd dreamt of her and now she was here, beside her… In a forest… with horses… and knights… And…

"I was in Phoenix!" She whispered, realizing the scenery was nowhere near her group home.

The brunette covered her mouth, but it was too late. Hands reached into the branches, pulling them both upright. A doze black armored knights surrounded them, forcing them to their knees. She hit the dirt and yelped as her hair was ripped back, exposing her throat. They were going to die. For what? What had this woman done and why was Emma unfortunate enough to be found with her?

She glanced her direction. The red-cloaked woman wasn't going down without a fight. A growl tore from her throat as her arms shot out, dispelling the man who held her. The cloak fell from her shoulders and her bones shifted, cracking as they changed shape.

Emma's stomach rolled. The sound was sickening, like splintering wood. The woman didn't seem phased though. Her deep growl turned into a snarl as her teeth shifted to pointed fangs. Her eyes flashed yellow and her pupil's dilated. Fur sprouted from her arms and legs, her nails stretching into sharp claws. With a final arch of her back, the woman lifted her head, no longer a person but a dog. A wolf.

The knight closest swung at her and she lunged, fangs clamping down on his wrist. The sword fell from his hand. His scream scraped Emma's skull, primal and raw. The sound filled the forest, silencing the birds and wildlife. Blood poured over the creature's snout, tangy and metallic. He was going to lose his hand. The wolf was going to tear it off. This had to be another dream. No way was this reality. Werewolves didn't exist. What had she watched before bed? Her group home didn't allow horror movies. No need to give a bunch of messed up kids bad ideas. Did Steph sneak one in?

That had to be it. Between a bad movie and the mirror…

 _You shattered the mirror._

The thought was a sinking stone in her gut. She had. Or, at least she had tried. She swung at the glass, but didn't remember connecting with it. Just falling. She fell, never hitting the ground. The wind swirled around her, squeezing her lungs until she blacked out. And woke up here…

"Enough!"

The Queen lifted her hard and the trees swayed. It wasn't the result of her head wound this time. The branches twisted, roots bubbling from the earth. They ensnared the wolf, snaking over her torso and binding her paws.

"Looks like I just found a solution to my problem."

The wolf snarled and the woman laughed, dark and rich. She was beautiful, more so than Emma remembered in her dream. She was also magnetic, a bright flame that was as mesmerizing as it was lethal. Emma had felt the warning in her blood before she woke. This woman's attention was not something she wanted to have… but she did want it. When she woke she felt as if something was missing, a need to find her, to go to her.

"Do you want me to put her down?" One of the knights held up his sword.

She offered him a sideways glance. "If I wanted her dead do you think I'd need you to do it?" Crimson nails threaded the wolf's coat, earning another snarl. "I have plans for her," the Queen said, almost lovingly. Without warning, her hand sank into the wolf's chest. The snarl shifted to a yelp. The branches around the animal's torso tightened and the Queen pulled back, a glowing red heart in her hand.

Emma's eyes widened, her lungs frozen in her chest. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Why wasn't she waking up? Why wasn't this nightmare ending? She didn't want to face this woman. She wanted to disappear, to run. She knew if the Queen saw her, she would know her spell had worked. Emma knew it too, even if she didn't believe it. The summoning curse the woman cast had landed on her. Emma was the one she was looking for. That's why she was there.

 _This isn't real._

She repeated the words, but they had lost their believability. She didn't know what or where this was, but it wasn't a dream.

"What about this one, Your Majesty?"

Dark eyes swiveled to hers and the Queen tilted her head. A feather light breeze slithered up her back. Emma shivered.

"What's your name, child?"

The voice was warm but Emma wasn't born yesterday. Even if the woman wasn't holding a beating heart, Emma had no doubts about what this woman was capable of.

She licked her parched lips, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Em-ma Swan."

"Well Emma," the Queen lifted a hand the carriage doors opened. "Why don't you ride with me?"


	2. Chapter 2

Emma didn't move at first. Every instinct she had told her to run. She would have, if she weren't surrounded by a dozen guards. As it was, she didn't see what choice she had. Where would she even run too? With her luck, she'd find herself in another predicament just as dangerous.

 _More dangerous than a woman holding a beating heart?_

Probably not, but who knew?

The Queen placed the heart into a steel box, setting it in the carriage before stepping in herself. The footman eyed Emma expectantly and a knight nudged her shoulder.

"The Queen commanded you."

Commanded?

The word left a rotten taste in her mouth. She didn't take orders. She might comply, if respectfully asked.

 _You were respectfully asked._

The Queen's voice wasn't rude or insulting. Offering Emma a ride was considerate. But seeing as she didn't seem to have a choice in the matter, a pleasant tone didn't really make Emma want to jump to obey. She didn't know where she was or had learned a long time ago not to take rides from strangers. Unfortunately the Queen didn't seem above using force or persuasion. The knight's eyes followed her, their hands clutching the hilts of their swords.

Emma stepped into the carriage, her heart pounding in her throat. She took the seat opposite of the monarch and settled back. The Queen had removed her gloves, dropping them carelessly on top of the silver box.

"I'm sorry you had to witness all that unpleasantness."

Emma glanced up. Brown eyes gazed intently into her own. This close, they'd lost the soul crushing darkness, no longer appearing onyx but chocolate brown. That didn't make them less intimidating. They pierced her own, compelling and entrancing. She shivered. Ghost-like fingers sifted through her blood. There was power in the woman's stare. A type of power Emma had never encountered and couldn't describe, as if the Queen were seeing passed her skin to what laid beneath the surface, seeing who she really was.

She swallowed and cleared her throat, gripping the leather seat beneath her. "I don't really know what I just saw."

Her mind was still reeling. She was attacked and not by a normal person. Her attacker had turned into a dog. And the Queen? What was she? A witch? How could you remove a heart? A glowing heart… How was the wolf still alive after that?

The cart lurched forward and the Queen leaned back, crossing her legs. "No," she answered. "I don't imagine you do." Her eyes dropped to Emma's feet, skimming over her torn jeans and Sonic Youth t-shirt.

Emma blushed. She knew she looked awful. Foster kids didn't have the best clothes to begin with and she'd put this shirt through the gauntlet. It was one of the few belongings she'd managed to keep over the years. Things tended to get lost or stolen in the system. It had never fit her, but now it was faded and covered with small tears. The biggest snare happened while jumping a fence. Her foster father at the time was drunk and angry, which seemed to go hand-in-hand with him. He'd taken a bat after her and Emma had barely made it out of the yard.

 _He might be a safer option than this woman though,_ Emma thought. At least her foster father had passed out soon after.

In addition to her ragged attire, her hair was matted with mud, harboring twigs and leaves from the shrubs. Scrapes covered her arms, a few droplets of blood painting rust on her skin.

The Queen raised a brow. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Emma glanced out the window. The trees had grown dense, the forest darkening around her. "I don't…" She looked back at the Queen, twisting the frayed jean strings over her knee. "Do you mind telling me where 'here' is?"

"You don't know?"

"I'm honestly not even sure how I got here. I keep trying to remember."

She did. She played the last day over and over again in her mind. She remembered the morning perfectly. Mr. and Mrs. Carson had shown up to the open house and she was surprised to find she actually liked them. Mike Carson was a foster kid too. He was lucky enough to be adopted at age twelve. That was the main reason they were interested in Emma. She was about to age out of the system and they wanted to help someone the way his parents had helped him. The other reason they'd chosen to meet her had to do with her social worker, Karen.

Karen was a family friend of theirs. She relayed Emma's story, rather than the condemning statements that littered every foster kids file. Hers was thicker than she cared to admit.

They got along great. Mike and Linda were easy to talk to and they actually had a lot in common. They enjoyed many of the same books, movies and music. Most shocking was that Emma didn't get that feeling in her stomach; a sudden twisting drop.

It was her super power, a sixth sense she'd had all her life. She always knew when people were lying. Her skin heated. Black ooze coated her insides, bubbling in her gut. The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled, alerting her to danger long before there was any tangible sign. She always knew and she was always right. Those were the worst families. The few where she learned to fear for her life. They were why she never unpacked her bags. She never knew when she would need to make a run for it.

She didn't have her bag now. She also wasn't getting a clear read on the Queen. Her instincts told her she was dangerous. Lethal. Emma felt like prey beneath her scrutinizing gaze, but she wasn't feeling the usual warning signs. Not even a general sense of ick. Mostly she was shocked and confused, like she was upside down, viewing the world from the wrong angle.

Maybe all her sense were off. She hadn't realized Steph's plan either. Not until it was too late. She was happy to avoid her 'friend' most of the morning, not desiring another confrontation before she met her potential family. She was nervous enough.

She should have paid attention. Maybe she would have caught Steph hiding beer in her bag.

Who was she kidding? Steph was smart enough to wait until she was distracted and resourceful enough to use one of the younger kids to get her busted. Once Mike and Linda saw what happened, it was all over. They didn't want to adopt her.

No. It was worse. They were still willing to adopt her if she told the 'truth.' They didn't believe her. They thought the beer was hers and Emma wasn't that desperate. She wanted a family, but family, real family had each other's backs, didn't they? Maybe that was only in fairy tales. Maybe there really was no such thing as 'family.' Not like she had always dreamed. Always wanted. Maybe the families she saw at the store or in the park were fairy tales too, an illusion.

It was that anger that drove her back to the mirror. She didn't let herself look into it. She knew if she did, she'd be lost, floating through other worlds, more lives she could never have. She was a street kid, unloved and unwanted, nothing more.

She didn't think about what she was doing. She grabbed a hairbrush from the dresser, lifted it over her head and swung.

There was no crash, or sound of shattering glass. There was no sound at all, at first. She pitched forward, carried by the momentum of her swing. There was a low vibration, like the snapping of a large rubber band and then cold darkness. Wind swirled around her, a vacuum, stealing her breath. She clutched at her chest and gasped. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up here with a head wound.

The two occurrences didn't fit together. No matter how hard she tried to put them together, something was missing. The obvious conclusion was that she had succeeded in breaking the mirror and had somehow fallen unconscious, but no dream had ever felt like this. She was far too aware of her surroundings and what was happening.

It was the mirror. She knew it was. A cold chill in her blood told her she had fallen through somehow, but fallen through to where? More importantly, how did she get back? "I don't think I'm anywhere in my world."

"Decidedly not," the Queen agreed.

Emma shifted in her seat, once again aware of the state of her clothes. "So, this place is…"

"You're in the Enchanted Forest. More specifically, you were on the Queen's road, in a part of the Kingdom ruled by me."

"And… you… are?" She was afraid to ask but needed to know.

"That would depend greatly on who you asked. Were you to speak with the mongrel we captured, she would tell you I am the villain in this Kingdom. The Evil Queen of this land."

"Evil Queen," Emma repeated. The title sounded familiar.

"I'm assuming you didn't have much time to speak with her?"

The question was weighted, making Emma's skin crawl. There was a right answer here. Not in her words. No. The Queen was looking more deeply than that, gauging if Emma was a threat.

She shook her head. "I don't even know her name."

There was another light breeze, a tickle at her back, despite the closed windows. Emma wrinkled her brow. She scented apples and earth, a rich forest aroma that reminded her of autumn before she moved to the desert.

"Her name is Red," the Queen answered.

"Red?" What kind of a name was- "Wait." It couldn't be… but her attacker was wearing a red cloak. And the wolf. "You don't mean like, Red Riding Hood, do you?"

She felt stupid asking but the narrowing of the Queen's eyes made her more uncomfortable.

"So you do know her?"

"I know of her," Emma mumbled, wracking her brain. The Evil Queen. The Evil Queen. Where did she know that title from?

It clicked, the words falling from her lips before she had a chance to think them through. "Snow White."

The Queen's strike was quick, the fangs of a snake puncturing without warning. Pointed red nails clasped her shirt, yanking her from her seat. The neckline closed around her throat and Emma clutched at the wrist of her captor.

"What of her?" the Queen hissed. She was inches from Emma's face, the scent of cinnamon and apples amplified by the warm breath on her cheeks.

Emma's eyes widened, the blood draining from her face. Her heart pounded, a beacon for the Queen's ears. "Th-that's where you're from, right? The story, I mean?" Emma spluttered. She had to fix this. How did she fix this?

"Story," the Queen repeated.

Emma nodded, trying her best to convey her innocence through her eyes. "I used to have a book as a kid… you were in it… or she was… both of you, I guess." She realized she was babbling and snapped her jaw shut.

"I assure you I'm not that brat's mother. I never was." She held Emma a moment longer as if contemplating her fate, and released her grip. "You truly have no connection to Snow White?"

"I don't." Emma scrambled back into her seat. "I swear."

The Queen pursed her lips.

"I just want to go back to where I came from. My world or realm or whatever."

"Which is where, dear?"

"I…" She didn't know. She didn't have a clue. At least not any idea that would make sense to anyone here. "It's a world without magic."

The Queen blinked, curiosity clouding dark features. She leaned forward, eyes intent on Emma's face. Slowly she reached out, a soft finger trailing her cheek bones and chin. "It can't be," she murmured.

Emma held her breath, nails digging into the seat hard. Her body trembled as conflicting emotions through her. The woman had ripped out a heart moments ago. She was clearly upset by Emma's mention of Snow. The carriage was already too small. They were already a lot closer than Emma cared to get. She wanted to jerk back and slap the woman's hand away, but knew that wouldn't earn her any bonus points. She needed to stay still. Besides, moving didn't appear to be an option. She was actually struggling not to lean closer.

An electric current buzzed through her veins beneath the woman's touch. Her ears rang and her mouth had gone dry. She almost felt dazed, her toes twitching in her tennis shoes. Her foot slid forward.

 _The child will come to me._

The words spoken in her dream echoed through her mind. It was the spell compelling her to move. Maybe it was all along. The mirror. Her visions. All of it. Now she could feel it, and if she could…

Her gaze locked on the Queen's brown eyes. They stared at her, wonder, confusion and glee all spiraling through the chocolate orbs. She knew. The Queen could feel it too. Emma was the one she was searching for.

"Please," Emma whispered. She wasn't sure what she wanted. To be free? To go home? She told herself it wasn't to be closer to the woman before her. That was crazy… She knew it was, but the desire to give herself over, for the Queen to hold her… No. She didn't want that. She wanted released from the spell. Didn't she? She wasn't sure. But she needed something. "Please."

The Queen retracted her hand, and a dark smile lit her face. "Please, what?" She purred.

Emma's brow furrowed but she said nothing. She didn't trust her voice and wasn't sure there was an answer that wouldn't get her into more trouble.

"It's, My Queen, Emma."

"Huh?"

"The correct way to phrase your request is: please, My Queen. That's what you are to call me."

"Okay?"

The Queen tapped her fingers against the silver box and waited.

Emma swallowed. "My Queen?" She added.

"Good girl. Now. If I'm not mistaken, you aren't telling me everything, are you?"

"I don't know how I got here," Emma repeated.

She felt the threat this woman held now. The ooze seeped into her very bones. She was in danger. Now that the Queen knew who she was, she wasn't safe. She could feel it. She needed to be careful. What she really needed was to escape.

She eyed the carriage door, her fingers inching towards the handle. A warm hand covered hers before she moved an inch.

"Exactly how far do you think you'd make it, Emma? To the trees? Maybe if you were lucky. You certainly wouldn't make it into the forest before I caught you."

Emma glared. "You don't know that."

The Queen's grip tightened around her fingers. "I own the trees. They bow to me. Just as you do now. If you run, they will capture you and you will join your friend back there." She gestured to where Red laid, tied over the saddle of a stallion. "Is that what you want?"

"What do _you_ want?" Emma countered, yanking her hand back.

"For now? Information."

"I already told you-"

"A half-truth. You know more than you're saying. I wouldn't suggest lying to me again either. You'll find my kindness does have an end. You know something about how you got here. What is it? What brought you here?"

"You!" Emma snapped. She crossed her arms over her chest, anger heating her face. There was no pretending. They both knew the truth. The Queen had summoned her and Emma was teleported to the Enchanted Forest. What they were both missing was the how and the why. "It was you. You cast the spell. You brought me here."

"And you know this how? Your land doesn't have magic, or was that a lie too?"

"It doesn't. I don't know how I saw you. I just did."

"When?"

Emma sat up straighter. "How about why? What do you want from me?"

Pearl white teeth flashed a predator's smile. "I don't tolerate insolence, Emma. Something you'll soon learn." She gazed passed her and Emma turned. As they rounded the corner, a dark palace came in to view. "Get comfortable. You're in my world now and you'll be playing by my rules."


	3. Chapter 3

"What happened? Who is that girl? Why isn't she in a cell?"

The genies face flashed in each mirror she passed, a dozen questions on his lips. She didn't have time to answer them. She had questions of her own. Snow's daughter was here. The spell had worked. Not how she had intended it… but still. It had worked.

She threw open the large black doors, crossing the magical barrier that protected her darkest magic and collection of hearts. Opening a steel chest, she plucked her mother's spell book from within and thumbed through the pages.

The spell was simple enough. It was a summoning spell with few ingredients. To be most effective, she needed a personal affect from the person she wished to conjure. Seeing as the child wasn't born yet, she'd had to make do with a drop of blood from each of the girl's parents.

Luckily, she'd managed to collect those precious gifts before Snow cursed her with the inability to do them harm in this realm. Blood was valuable for the simplest of spells. Regina had taken drops from Snow before the death of Leopold. It was how her mirror was able to locate Snow, no matter where she fled to. Snow didn't need to be near a mirror for Regina to see her. A few drops of blood and her magic could track her through any reflection: a river, a puddle, a small drop of morning dew.

Charming's blood wasn't as easily obtained. It had taken a nick from her sword. Caught up in their scrimmage, he didn't notice the wave of her hand, the cleared blood from her blade. He continued to strike until she disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. Killing him would have been fun, but it wasn't the right time. Besides, if she ever did end Charming's life, she wanted Snow there to watch. After all, she had to watch Daniel's last breath. It seemed only fair.

Snow and Charming's blood was enough. The summoning spell took to the air, blown from her balcony on a wisp of air. Their child would be the only one in their world to share the ancestry of both her parents. She hadn't figured other world's into the equation. Her spell wasn't meant to reach that far.

She pressed a finger to the page, careful examining each phrase.

 _A token rare,_

 _Heart laced in shadow,_

 _I cast a snare,_

 _Your destiny borrowed._

 _Your will be mine,_

 _Your path I guide,_

 _Our fates entwined,_

 _Draw to my side._

She had called for the white princess, sealing the spell with a drop of her own blood, speaking the last line into the wind. "Come to me."

She'd cast the incantation perfectly. The blood she combined bubbled, dissolving as her magic poured into the air. The child would fall into her hands some way of another. The spell would take effect the moment the infant was born, setting their lives on an intersecting path.

Or it should have.

The girl in the tower was nearly an adult. She was of marriageable age in this land. Had she grown up here, no doubt Snow would have had Emma's maidenhood sold to some eligible royal or another by now.

But the girl hadn't grown up here. She'd grown up in a land without magic.

Regina massaged her brow. There weren't many such realms. Most worlds had a glimmer of magic and the ones that didn't still had the potential under the right circumstances. The one with the least desirable conditions was the land bound to her dark curse.

That had to be the connection. All spells required focus. She needed a clear mind to cast her incantation correctly. Looking back, she couldn't guarantee her mind had focused only on the unborn child. Her chance for revenge was slipping through her fingers. Her curse required a sacrifice to work. All magic had a price to be paid. This one required what she loved most. Her father.

For the curse to work she needed his heart. He would give his life for her happiness. He always had. It was a sacrifice she planned to honor, starting with ensuring her curse was unbreakable. She wasn't going to lose her father so the White Princess could undo her hard work. She intended to kill the girl first. She just hadn't anticipated it being this girl…

Could she really be from the land of her curse? How? How was that possible? How was she alive before she was born? Time travel wasn't possible. If it were, she would have used it long ago to save Daniel from her mother. Better yet, she could have killed Snow before she told Regina's dearest secret. How much brighter would the world have been without that little brat?

But it wasn't possible.

Regina knew it wasn't possible. The ancient relics that allowed such possibilities were lost centuries ago, destroyed in dark battles between realms. There were rumors of spells… those spells were darker than her curse. They were protected and hidden, even from Rumpel. She poured through books: magic and historical. She never found them.

"Then how did she get here?"

The curse was the key. Her desire for revenge would have tainted the summoning spell. It was possible it had crossed worlds. What she didn't understand was how Emma was alive there, and why she was nearly eighteen. Time was frozen under her curse, which meant Emma wasn't sent to this world by her…

Snow?

Portal jumping was easy enough and Snow had magical allies at her finger tips... Still, she found it hard to believe Snow would send her daughter to this land alone. But it was the only explanation she could come up with. Emma had crossed through the portal before Regina found and killed her. Before her curse was cast. The summoning spell had brought her back, but how? And why? If her curse was successful, Regina was in the same realm, living a slightly different life.

Unless she wasn't. She had no way of knowing and the girl wasn't talking… Yet.

She would persuade her to speak. All the cards were aligned in her favor. She held the curse and the ability to cast it, and had all the time in the world. The Charming's knew it. They were preparing, resigned to the inevitable, laying their hopes on an infant.

Regina sighed.

Was it possible she miscalculated? Perhaps Emma wasn't the White heir. Even in a land without magic, there were ways for citizens to stumble through portals. Emma might be a peasant of that world.

She glided from her vault, facing the mirror. "Show me the girl."

The genie disappeared from view, gray smoke clearing to display the high tower. The blonde paced back and forth, fingers clenching and releasing. Her shoulders were squared, muscles wound tight. Her green eyes flickered about the room without landing on anything in particular. She wasn't taking in her surroundings, she was searching, looking for a way out.

There wasn't one.

Regina studied the girl's face. Part of her hoped she was wrong. She wanted Emma to be just a girl. The infant would find its way to her arms once born and she'd have some entertainment in the meantime.

She wasn't wrong. At first glance, Regina saw nothing to give her identity away. She was a pretty girl, and a blend of her family line. She didn't look like either of her parents. Their features blurred, creating a desirable face, one more alluring that those she came from. But there were similarities: Snow's eyes and chin; Charming's cheeks and hair; Ava's neck and nose.

There was nothing of Leopold. The girl was fortunate of that.

Regina tapped her fingers as she watched her new charge. She was wound tight, a trapped animal ready to pounce. That wasn't a trait held by either of her parents. It was learned. What had this child been through to be so prepared for attack?

It mattered little. Still, she found herself intrigued. Her plan to kill the girl had changed. There were too many questions for her to die just yet. If time travel was involved, there were other options to explore. Either way, Emma was the key to her revenge and her happiness. The girl was hers and would give her the answers she needed.

Emma's POV

"Put me down!"

Emma struggled against the vice grip on her legs. The Queen hadn't pressed her for answers once at the gates. She waited and watched; a spider observing a caught fly. Her lips spread thin, dark eyes dancing. The door swung open and two hands wrestled Emma from her seat, tossing her over an armored shoulder.

Emma screamed, flailing as she was carted through the castle doors. The chain real pinched her bare skin. Steel shoulders punched at her gut with each jostled step, winding through passages and corridors. How many stair flights had they climbed?

 _At least he's going up…_ Emma thought.

They reached a landing and veered right, opening a door to a spiral staircase.

Emma's heart pounded. A tower. She had escaped the dungeon, but knew how old fairy-tales ended. She didn't have any desire to see if she could grow her hair long enough for some dude to climb. How long would that take? How old would she be by then?

The knight came to a halt, dumping her unceremoniously on the hard floor. The cold stone scraped at her hands and knees, air rushing from her lungs on impact. It didn't slow her. She leapt to her feet, lunging for the door. The heavy wood slammed shut, stopping Emma in her tracks. She reached forward and froze. The door was one sided. There was no handle. She didn't see a key hole either.

She backed away slowly, chest heaving. She gasped at thick summer air and closed her eyes. "Calm down, Swan. You need to think."

Being locked in wasn't the worst thing. She was a foster kid. Harry Potter wasn't the only child getting shoved under a staircase at night. She'd slept in bathtubs, closets and even the garage a time or two. This room was nicer than all of those combined. The bed was small but she'd had worse. She'd slept on a pile of blankets at her last house. She had preferred it to the rotting mattress her fosters generously supplied for her. This bed was clean at least. The mattress contained fresh linen and two thin pillows. It was more than she expected.

Across the room a brick fireplace stretched toward the ceiling. It hadn't been used for a while. The ashes had been swept away and an eight legend friend was camped out on the set of iron pokers. Hopefully he kept away the other creepy crawlies.

Other room furnishings were meager. There was an empty bookshelf, along with a desk and chair. A dried inkwell and quill resided on top. No paper though. Someone had cleared that away and left her a pitcher of water. The metal was cold against her fingertips, condensation creating a dark ring on the chipped table surface.

She glanced at the empty cup and backed away. She was thirsty. The tongue was sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. Her head still prickled where she'd been injured and her muscles ached. Falling through the mirror was like being sucked into a vacuum. Pressure squeezed her lungs and her ears popped. She'd passed out when she landed, hence the head wound. She was exhausted, sore and dehydrated.

The castle air wasn't helping either. The tower was musty, leaving the taste of sewer in her mouth. She needed water, but was too skeptical to drink it. At least not until she knew why she was here. She could survive this place, but she had to be smart. She wasn't worried about the locked door. What she feared was on the other side.

She was in the castle of the Evil queen. A queen who ripped out hearts and poisoned apples. A queen who had summoned her from another realm. Only a fool would drink the water. She wasn't a fool. The Queen wanted something from her, she just didn't know what. She had turned it over in her mind again and again. She'd read Snow White. There were countless versions of the story in their world. The Queen was always painted as vain, petty and cruel.

The cruel part was accurate as far as she could tell. But vain?

She wasn't sure. The woman was beautiful, dark and seductive. How gorgeous was Snow White for this woman to be jealous? But there wasn't envy in the Queen's eyes. Anger? Hatred? Absolutely. Those emotions ran deeper than vanity. Those emotions were tied to old wounds, covered with scar tissue, smarting when prodded.

Emma had wounds of her own. You didn't just move on after some things. You were changed. A knew person. She wanted to say she'd forgiven the people who changed her. She wanted to say she didn't think about them. It wasn't true. She kept busy, distracted. Focusing on the present was necessary for her survival, but she knew the ghosts of her past were still there, haunting her with lost dreams.

Who haunted the Queen? What did that have to do with Snow White? What did it have to do with _her_?

She wasn't sticking around to find out. For all she knew, the Queen had a daily heart quota to fill. She wasn't going to be next.

There had to be a way out. Castles all had secret passages, didn't they? There was a possibility would find one eventually. The question was, how much time did she have? Finding a hidden door could take weeks. Besides, there was nothing in the room that looked promising. There were no lost tones in the floor or even a rug. The walls were bare and the furniture was minimal, easily shifting when she moved it.

There were no other doors and only a small cathedral window high overhead. There was a possibility she could fit through, but she'd have to reach it first. And then what? Jump?

Yeah, right to her death. She had to be at least three stories up, if not more.

 _What else do you have to lose?_

Just her heart and maybe her life. Either way she looked at it, she was taking a risk.

The bookshelf scraped the stone floor and Emma cringed. The wood screeched like nails on a chalkboard. She held her breath and waited. If there were guards outside the door they hadn't heard. Or they didn't care.

She scaled the shelf quickly, balancing on the top. The rickety legs rocked with her weight, tilting as she stretched. She was still a foot short of the sill. She had to jump. It was the only way she'd reach. She bent her knees and took a deep breath.

The world froze. Her feet pushed off the edge and the wooden shelf crashed to the floor behind her. Her fingers caught ledge, sunlight warming her face. A single white cloud floated passed and she inhaled the scent of pine. She pressed her toe into the stone wall and pushed up. She was going to make it. A little further and –

A blast of wind knocked her back, wooden shutters slamming shut. She slipped from the sill and yelped as the curtain caught her wrist, binding her midair.

"I'm curious to know the next part of your plan. There are less painful ways to die."

Emma froze. The velvet voice was cool, raising the hair on her arms. The Queen stood near the fireplace, a hand lifted into the air. With a quick twist, the curtain released her, dropping her to the mattress below.

"How did you get in here?" Emma rubbed at her wrists. She was sure she hadn't heard the door open.

"Emma, Emma, Emma…" The Queen ignored her questions, toeing the splintered shelf remains. "Is this how you repay my generosity?"

Emma gaped. "Generosity?" Of course that's how she would see it. That's how they always saw it. A descent blanket and she was supposed to prostrate herself in gratitude. They were so kind to not let her shiver in the filthy room they provided. This room was clean, comparably. That was beside the point. "You locked me in."

Dark brows lifted, obsidian eyes zeroing in on her face. "Did you expect me to let you run free?"

Emma glared. She didn't know what she expected. She didn't know anything.

The Queen sat on the bed and Emma resisted the urge to scoot back. She wouldn't show this woman her discomfort. She wasn't going to give her that power.

"You were found with my enemies and you haven't exactly been forthcoming with the information you've provided."

"And you thought locking me up would make me talk?" It might have if she were anyone else. She had enough experience with small spaces and restricted necessities to hold out for days under these conditions.

"Would you have preferred the dungeon?"

"Oh, so this is an ultimatum?" She crossed her arms and the Queen smirked.

She leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper. "Call it what you will, dear. You'll find I have many ways of inspiring your cooperation. The question you should be asking is, which will be less painful for you?"

The Queen stood, motioning Emma to follow. For a second, she considered resisting. She had a tendency to dig her heels in when challenged. It rarely ended in her favor. She had earned a fair amount of bruises that way. Provoking a queen who ripped out hearts didn't seem wise.

She pushed from the bed, following the dark woman to the center of the room. Black hair cascaded down her back, lifting as she spun back to face her. Without looking away, the Queen lifted her hand, blowing across her palm as if sending her a kiss. Purple smoke followed the direction of her breath, darkening the room, blinding them in an apple scented haze.

Emma breathed in. The air tasted sweet, a mixture of fruit and candy. She was dizzy with it, blood rushing to her head. With each breath, she felt her inhibitions slipping. She was drifting, lost in a cloud of purple sky. The buzz was disorienting and alarming. She felt blissful, pleasure burying the fear bubbling from her chest.

"My Queen?" She hadn't meant to speak the words. She hadn't meant to pacify the woman at all unless it kept her alive. The smoke was intoxicating, breaking her resolve.

A hand settled on her shoulder; warm lips at her ear. "It doesn't have to be this way, Emma. I could be your friend. I could give you anything you desired."

The smoke faded and Emma's eyes widened. They were standing in the same room, but everything was different. The fireplace blazed, casting light over lavish furniture. A large suede couch nestled against the stone walls, surrounded by plush rugs. The bookshelf was restored, this time filled with leather bound books. The small bed was gone, replaced by a four poster frame, covered in pillows, silks and furs.

The Queen gestured to a nearby table. Trays of fruit and cheese decorated the marble surface. "Hungry?"

Emma opened her mouth, shut it and opened it again. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. Only an offer."

"How is that different?"

The Queen shrugged. "You already know what I want, don't you?"

"Not completely. You haven't told me why you brought me here."

"Perhaps I'm in the same boat as you?"

"Which is?"

"Wondering which cards to play and which to keep. You want to know my hand and I want to know yours. Neither of us are willing to play our ace. But I need your card Emma and you need mine. I think we can come up with an arrangement."

Emma licked her lips. The Queen's deductions weren't exactly Sherlock inspiring. What moron wouldn't be hesitant to give up their only playing card? Arrangement or not, she had no way of knowing if the Queen would keep her word.

"Did you forget what happened in the forest? You tore out a heart. You-"

"You're right. I did. I could take yours, Emma. With it, I wouldn't need your trust. You would do as I commanded. Your heart is still in your chest though, isn't it?"

"I…" she subconsciously lifted her arm, resting her hand against her collarbone. Could the Queen really control her? Was that possible?

 _The wolf is still alive and her heart is in a box._

"Trust has to start somewhere. Keep your ace for now if you like. All I'm asking is for face card. Give me something, Emma, and the room is yours."

Her gut twisted. Giving any information to the queen felt like a risk. But was it worth taking? Playing nice might put her life in more danger. It also might give her an opportunity to escape. At the very least, Emma couldn't feel a lie in the Queen's offer.

"It was a mirror."

"What was?"

"How I came here. I fell through a mirror." No need to tell her about watching her, or the dream. She definitely wasn't going to tell her she saw her cast the summoning spell. Not yet. Traveling mirrors seemed harmless enough. The Queen had them, according to the stories.

The dark woman sat on the sofa, gesturing Emma to do the same. "A magic mirror wouldn't have power in your world. At least not enough for you to open a portal."

Emma shrugged. "Who said I opened it? I only fell through."

"Fair." The Queen pursed her lips, dark eyes fading in an out of focus. "Can you tell me anything else about it?"

"Like?"

"What did it look like? Did you feel anything before you fell through?"

Emma swallowed. They were entering dangerous territory. Emma had given the Queen one card. She wasn't going to offer up another without some answers of her own. "I don't know."

The Queen tilted her head. "Don't you?"

"I already answered a question. Why should I answer another?"

"The more you give, the more you'll get, dear." The Queen leaned back, silence falling between them.

Emma's skin prickled beneath her gaze, her blood heating. There was an electric current in the air, dangerous and mesmerizing. She was a moth, drawn to the flame. She should have been more afraid. The Queen radiated power her magic far greater than she had imagined. Emma didn't have a lot of weapons in her arsenal. Not against her. Yet, she found herself wanting to know exactly what the Queen would give if she gave another card.

"The mirror was gold. The frame. It was gold branches. There were symbols on the leaves, but I don't know what they meant."

"Can you remember them?"

"Maybe?" It was the truth. She hadn't paid close attention at the time. Her focus was swept away by the images flashing through her mind. The longer she gazed into the mirror, the more reality faded.

The Queen nodded and leaned forward, lifting a finger to Emma's chin. "A truth for a truth. I did summon you."

"Why?" Emma breathed.

"I plan to cast a curse and you're destined to break it."

"What?" Emma couldn't have heard her right? She thought she was going to break her curse? She wasn't even from this world. "But I-"

"Quiet."

Emma swallowed, hating the shiver at the back of her neck. She was trembling. Noticeably. "That's impossible."

"I assure you, it's not."

"If that's my destiny, why haven't you killed me?" She didn't want to ask, but she needed to know. How much time did she have left?

"People confuse destiny with fate, Emma. Your life or death is based on the path you choose." She dropped her hand and stood. A second door appeared on the far wall. "The room is yours. There's a wash room through there."

"Thank you." Emma didn't know what else to say. Her mind felt disheveled, the aftermath of a cyclone.

"I meant what I said, Emma. We don't have to be enemies. In fact, I hope we aren't." She nodded towards the vanity. "If you need anything else, call into the mirror. I'll hear you."

"But I-"

She didn't have time to finish her sentence. Smoke filled the room and the queen was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

_Boom!_

Emma bolted from her sleep, hand flying to her heart. The room was dark. The candles had long since burnt out. So had the fire place. There was no light or sound she could place outside the pouring rain and flashes of lightening.

She glanced around. She didn't remember falling asleep. She had paced the room after the Queen left, replaying their conversation over and over again...

 _I'm going to cast a curse and you're destined to break it._

The words prickled at the back of Emma's neck. It was an unfamiliar sensation. Emma was used to detecting lies, the black ooze of false intentions settled in the pit of her stomach, solidifying like cement. This was different. A cold chill slipped down Emma's spine, spider fingers ghosting over her flesh. The Queens words weren't a lie, but they were more than the truth.

 _Prophecy._

The word flitted through her mind. It was probably the best fit for what Emma felt. That or a death sentence. The words felt powerful and irreversible. That was the definition of fate though, wasn't it? Being powerless to stop it? Emma's life was somehow entwined with a curse she knew nothing about.

It didn't make any sense. How could there be a prophecy about her in the Enchanted Forest?

"How am I even in the Enchanted Forest?" Emma muttered.

She ran her hands over her arms, warming away the moist night air. She didn't have an answer for any of it. If she was meant to break the Queen's curse, why had the Queen summoned her? Wasn't it safer to leave her where she was? What damage could she do from Phoenix, Arizona?

Emma wasn't born yesterday. If the Queen had brought her here, there were only two reasons Emma could think of. Either Emma was a double edged sword and also had something the Queen wanted, or the Queen wanted to eliminate any chance of her curse breaking. Even a slight chance from a faraway land.

Emma's money was on the second reason. She really wasn't sure why the Queen hadn't killed her already.

 _People often confuse fate with destiny._

Emma snorted and wrapped a soft throw around her shoulders. She hadn't had much luck with fate or destiny in her life. As far as she could tell, both were a great cosmic joke. Whatever the Queen thought Emma was, she'd re-evaluate those beliefs if she knew the hand fate had played her so far. Waking up in a magical fairy-tale land and being captured by a murderess Queen didn't even make the top five worst things to happen to her.

If Emma had ever been able to choose or control her destiny, she wouldn't have spent her childhood in a dozen homes across the country. Why did the Queen think Emma had a choice in this?

Maybe it had something to do with the way the curse was cast? Or the way it was meant to break?

The thought only lead to more questions. What was this curse? Why was the Queen casting it? And how did Emma fit in her story? What was her story?

From what Emma could tell, the fairy-tales she'd grown up with were a far cry from what she'd encountered here. She'd never heard a version of Red Riding Hood where the grand-daughter was the wolf. Where was granny? The wolf in the woods didn't seem like the kind to attack her own grandmother, but then what did Emma know? Maybe Red wasn't the original wolf. Maybe she was bit and turned into one?

 _Right. So Red Riding Hood is a Werewolf?_

And what about Snow White? The Queen's loathing wasn't driven by jealousy. Emma was sure of it. What was the real story behind their feud? The Queen hadn't been wonderfully forthcoming. Not without incentive. A secret for a secret.

Emma had tried the door after the Queen left. The handle was still missing. She was locked in, a prisoner despite her new luxurious accommodations. The Queen had made her position clear. If Emma wanted more freedom, she would have to give the Queen more than a simple answer or two. The question was: how much did she give? And what were her secrets worth?

Despite the Queen's assurances of a possible alliance, Emma wasn't stupid enough to believe she was out of danger. The Queen was deadly. What happened when Emma was no longer useful?

 _The mirror._

The mirror was her safety net. At least for now. Whatever spell the Queen had cast, the mirror wasn't supposed to be a part of it.

Emma stood slowly, stumbling to the desk across the room. The inkwell was full, sitting next to a stack of fresh parchment. Emma picked up the quill, tapped it to the paper and paused. She glanced at the mirror, her eyes narrowed.

 _If you need anything, call. I'll hear you._

Could the Queen see her? Was she watching?

She wasn't taking any chances. With her back to the mirror, Emma fumbled with the sparking rock, lighting three candles. They were new. So were the logs inside the fireplace. Someone had replaced them while she slept. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Emma rarely slept deeply enough for anyone to sneak up on her… Then again, no one in her world could change an entire room with a wave of their hand. How could she fight against that?

It didn't seem possible. Not without a weapon of her own. For now, a bargaining chip would have to suffice. As long as she still had something the Queen wanted, she would be safe.

Emma reached for the quill again, staring at the parchment. The symbols on the mirror were runes. Or hieroglyphics. She wasn't sure. They skirted the edge of her memory, fuzzy and allusive.

She took a deep breath. "Focus, Swan." She hadn't paid much attention to the runes. Her gaze was pulled to the people and places she saw reflected in the glass. People like the Queen.

Her palms tingled.

 _"The child will come to me…"_

Warmth ignited in Emma's chest and her brow furrowed. Her hand fluttered over the parchment, the quill etching a series of symbols before her. She wasn't writing the runes but she _was_.

"Shit." Emma dropped the quill and stepped back, shaking her head. The runes were nothing more than a whisper in her mind, like a breath of air or puff of smoke. They flitted through her memory and slipped through her fingers. She couldn't see them clearly, but there they were, written in her own hand. "How…"

She didn't finish her sentence. It didn't matter how. She had her safety net. She just had to make sure the Queen couldn't find it.

She glanced back at the mirror, biting her lip. There weren't any good hiding places in the room. Not with the vanity reflecting her every move. Anywhere she placed the paper would be obvious, unless…

Emma folded the paper, dropping to the floor beside the bed. It was the one place the mirror didn't have a clear view of her movements. She stayed low, slipping the paper in the heel of her shoe. After a moment, she lifted the mattress and stood up.

Her deception wouldn't fool the Queen long. The first time Emma left the room, the Queen would tear the bed apart. If she even waited that long. Still, it bought her time, hopefully enough to find a better hiding place, or a way out. She'd take either. There had to be someone else in the land who knew about the Queen's curse or how she could get back to her own world.

 _You have to get out of this room first._

She had a feeling there was only one way to do that. If she wanted out, she had to play the Queen's game.

 _It's not like you haven't done it before. Every home you had to learn the game, didn't you?_

The Queen wasn't any different. If you didn't count the whole magic thing.

Emma's stomach growled and she rubbed her forehead. How long had she been out? She remembered eating. The Queen had left her food. She had a light sandwich and few sips of cider and…

Her mind went dark.

There was nothing after that. She didn't remember being tired or falling asleep. She didn't remember anything before the lightning strike that woke her.

She spun toward the mirror. "Did you drug me?" The glass rippled and solidified as Emma shuffled closer. "Your Majesty?"

Nothing. The mirror remained silent and motionless.

The Queen had said to call her, hadn't she?

 _My Queen. That's what you are to call me._

Emma tightened her jaw. She wasn't dumb. The title was one of possession and ownership; an acquiescence on Emma's part to the Queen and one she wouldn't give in to. Not again. She'd slipped up once, disoriented by the Queen's magic. She'd never say it willingly. This woman wasn't her Queen. She wasn't her anything.

She crossed her arms, scowling as her stomach rumbled. She _was_ hungry, but the discomfort was minimal. She'd suffered foster families who had starved her for days, swiping scraps where she could find them.

 _You don't know that it hasn't been days,_ she thought.

The mirror rippled again and she blinked at her reflection. Her skin was still smudged with dirt and dried blood, but the scrapes and bruises were gone. That couldn't be right. Even if she were unconscious for days, her wounds wouldn't have healed that fast. An illusion?

She reached up, pressing at her scalp. The bump was gone. Her heart picked up pace.

"How long was I asleep?"

There was no reply.

Emma sighed. She wasn't likely to win this battle of wills. She would eventually need food, unless she deliberately refused to eat. That game seemed a little too dangerous. The Queen was hard to read, but the danger was real enough. She could feel it in her bones. Challenging her wouldn't end well.

Still, the Queen could wait. She needed a bath anyway.

The bathing chamber was spacious and more modern than she had expected. The tub was built into the floor, warm water bubbling as steam wafted into the air. Soft towels and linens lined a tall oak shelf. There were also soaps and an assortment of vials Emma wasn't about to touch. Not without knowing what was in them. They didn't look like any cosmetic products she'd ever used. The substances inside were black, blue, purple and red and looked like Yzma's cabinet from the Emperor's New Groove. She wasn't trying to turn herself into a llama.

Behind a thick purple curtain, she found a toilet. It was carved from stone but was better than the chamber pot she had expected. Water swirled continually at the base, washing away any dirt and waste. The seat was smooth and polished and was better than a lot of foster bathrooms she'd used. At least it was clean.

Emma grabbed three towels, tossing one over the floor length mirror before removing her torn shirt and jeans. She toed the water, audibly sighing as she sank in to her neck. The heat soothed her muscles, relaxing her back and shoulders. She was tense, but considering how she felt before her "nap" she was in decent shape.

"Better than decent…"

She lifted her arms, admiring unblemished skin. There wasn't a scratch or bruise on her, no remnants of jagged rocks or thorns. Either she had slept a really long time or she had healed remarkably fast.

 _Or I had some help._

Emma frowned. Could the Queen have healed her? And why? People didn't do things for no reason. Altruism was always motivated by some desire or another, usually at her expense.

She tilted her head back, massaging her scalp.

At least the Queen wasn't likely to kill her anytime soon. If the Queen had plans for her death, she wouldn't waste energy healing her, would she? She couldn't be sure. The Queen didn't seem to play by standard rules of human behavior. She switched from hot to cold in a breath of air, shaking the shifting ground under Emma's feet.

"She's probably bipolar."

Emma washed quickly, climbed from the tub and wrapped herself in a large towel. She had to give it to the Queen, she spared no luxury. The towel was nearly as soft as her bed sheets. If this was what the Queen gave prisoners, what did she give honored guests?

Who were her honored guests? Ursula? Jafar? It sounded ridiculous.

Emma opened the armoire and peered inside. The closet was filled with dresses. Frilly, pastel dresses.

She raised a brow at the mirror. "No way in hell." She pulled out a lace gown and held it up to her chest, sequence sparkling in the firelight. "Where did you even get this?" It didn't look like the queen's usual style. At least from what she'd seen of it. "This looks like something the Pink Fairy threw up."

The mirror rippled, a soft chuckle sounding from the other side.

So the Queen was listening. Emma's lips twitched. It was a small victory but the Queen had answered her, without use of her proper title.

Emma licked her lips, clearing her throat. "I'm going to need some other options."

"It sounds like you have quite the dilemma, dear."

The answering voice was followed by a bright shimmer. Emma's reflection vanished, replaced by the Queen's.

The dark woman lifted a brow, her lips pursed in amusement. Her raven hair cascaded over a red velvet dress, accented with black diamonds that dipped between her breasts. Her skin was flawless, warmed by the firelight. No way was this woman worried about the looks of a child.

The Queen's head tilted, assessing Emma's expression. "Something you'd like to say?"

Emma shook herself, her jaw snapping shut. How long had she been staring?

She lifted the dress. "I'm not wearing this."

"Really?" The Queen leaned back, batting long eyelashes. "What do you plan to wear then? You do look rather... delectable in that towel."

Heat flamed Emma's cheeks. Right. It probably wasn't proper etiquette to parade in front of royalty half dressed.

 _You're not dressed at all,_ she reminded herself.

She cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders. "I've had less to work with." She winced internally. Okay that probably wasn't the best thing to say. How much less could you get than a towel?

"Judging by the clothing you came here in, I'd have to agree."

Emma ignored her, dropped the dress on the bed and rummaged back through the armoire. "Don't you have ..." What did people call a t-shirt and pants here? "Trousers or a tunic?"

"I might have something more suitable."

The Queen flicked her wrist and a translucent image materialized: black leather leggings and boots, and a midnight blue tunic.

Emma reached for it, her fingers passing through the material like she had grasped a ghost. "Let me guess, you want more information?"

The Queen shrugged. "I'll have the answers I need in time. For this? All that is required is for you to ask."

"I thought I had."

"Properly, Emma." The Queen's lips pulled back, bearing perfect white teeth. "How do you address your Queen?"

Emma straightened, electricity snapping up her spine. "I-"

"Thought I didn't notice?"

Emma turned from the mirror, teeth grinding. Of course the Queen had noticed. Emma was stupid to think she hadn't. The Queen was smart and cunning. Her appearance in the mirror hadn't been a victory. It was a counter move. A trap. One Emma had walked right in to.

"I have other clothes."

"You have rags. They are hardly suitable wear for tonight's dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Did I pique your interest?"

Emma sat on the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. The Queen's words had done more than that. The mere mention of food had her ravenous, her ribs caving into the empty cavern of her stomach. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this hungry. It didn't make sense. A few skipped meals were nothing to her usually.

"Did you drug me?" She asked again.

The Queen's brows lifted. "Perhaps you should try thank you."

"For drugging me?"

"For healing you."

Emma swallowed, a slow rage building inside her. She had guessed the Queen had a hand in her quick recovery. That didn't excuse spiking her cider. She didn't even know how long she had been out. Days? Weeks? She didn't want to think about the possibility that it could have been longer.

"I'm perfectly capable of healing on my own. It might be slower-"

"You'd have been in agony."

"They were scratches."

The Queen leaned forward, fingers splayed on the vanity before her. "They were scratches left by Talite thorns. Not deadly but painful. Fevers, muscle aches…"

Emma opened her mouth, closed it and opened it again. "And I'm supposed to just believe you? You could have told me – "

The Queen scoffed. "I'm sure you would have trusted me. Kind of like now?"

"I…" She fisted the sheets beside her. The Queen had a point. She wouldn't have believed her. The Queen had ripped out a heart only hours before that and thought Emma would break her curse.

"My cider contains natural healing elements, but I added a sleeping drought so you wouldn't be aware of the pain."

"And what's in tonight's dinner? Eye of newt?"

The Queen's eyes darkened; her lips pulling tight.

Emma's heart sank. "I didn't mean – "

"Enough."

The Queen lifted her hand and Emma flew forward, crashing through the mirror and on to the stone floor on the other side. Fingers tangled in her hair and Emma yelped. Her back arched. Her head tilted up until her eyes locked with those of the Queen. "If you need a lesson in gratefulness and respect, I'd be happy to provide one, Em-ma."


End file.
